Smoothing out the marks Bastien’s hands had left on her velvet dress, Elana sidled between Celine and Coco.
“Like what?” Celine repeated.
Elana chuckled. “He’s all yours now,” she added with a shrug of her bare shoulder, before fixing her sleeve to cover it and pushing through the glass door.
Bastien remained on the floor.
Celine kicked him with the pointed toe of her heels. “Move!”
He brought himself to his feet with considerable reluctance and began recollecting the scattered pieces of fabric around him. “Tell me, Celine, are you always this repressed? Or are you jealous?”
“Oh, you flatter yourselfexceedingly.”
Celine wasn’t jealous, no. She was furious. Outraged that Bastien couldn’t take one thing seriously.
“Do I now?” He turned around to face her. His hair was mussed, his grey eyes still clouded by his earlier activity. Andtowering over her, he appeared much like an angel plucked from Heaven and tainted with sin. “If you are resolved to believe that it is all just bravado, maybe I should prove you wrong. Although, judging by Cosette’s flushed cheeks, I’m sure you two heard just how entitled I am to flatter myself.”
As if he felt the need to prove it to her, he moved his hand to run one teasing finger along her jaw.
Celine couldn’t deny that her entire body prickled under his touch.Frisson, she recalled having read somewhere: aesthetic chills that were caused by pleasant stimuli. Though calling Bastien pleasant was, by all means, her lowest point.
“Interesting,” Coco muttered, cutting right through their dispute. “You can really see a static spark going off between your foreheads.”
Swivelling on her, Celine and Bastien pinned her under a shared, vexed look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Coco said, studying them still. “Just an observation. You may proceed with your quarrel.”
“There is nothing to proceed,” Celine snapped icily. She looked at Bastien again. “Gather the fabrics and bring them to our station before Monsieur Baudelaire’s timer goes off. And do not dawdle.”
• • •
Bastien decided to linger outside for a little while longer and enjoy the last rays of the afternoon sun, warm and peaceful, before he had to return inside the House and try on the gown. Though he could almost hear an annoying, self-righteous voice in the back of his mind yap at him to backtrack right that instant.
If he was honest with himself, Bastien liked it—because Celine meant it. She meant every word of admonishment she sent his way on the daily, and for Bastien it was rare to find someone who didn’t use the wordscoundrelas a flirting device.
Still, he supposed he ought to pull his weight properly, for the sake of their team. He was starting to enjoy entering the fashion house every day and being surrounded by that all-too-familiar noise of sewing machines and the hectic atmosphere of brilliant minds overloading with ideas. He missed being in his mother’s studio. He had loved seeing her working on a new line; it had been his favourite thing in the world. Looking at all the mannequins, treating them as glamorous friends he was meeting at a party, who would soon be positioned behind storefronts for all pedestrians to stare at in awe—Bastien had never wanted to be anyplace else.
Sighing, he pushed off the wall. The past was past. No matter how close it seemed now that Celine had brought a piece of it back for him, Bastien didn’t want to dwell on what he couldn’t get back anymore.
He was about to return inside when the door opened before he had a chance to pull on the handle.
“Save your breath, baby vamp,” he started, watching as Celine barrelled right into the street, her stride fast. “I know I’m late,again, but—”
The words died on his lips when she outright sauntered around the corner, ignoring him altogether.
Okay, maybe I deserved that.
“Celine?” Bastien moseyed after her, listening for the clicking of her heels among the established bustle of the neighbourhood. He found her sitting on the marble steps of the House’s back door, ensconced between the two walls that made up the entrance alcove. “At least yell at me for being late. You should know, I don’t take the silent treatment too seriously.”
There was no reply.
“Celine?” he called, feeling a prickle of unease crawl between his shoulder blades. He approached hesitantly, unsure what had driven her outside. “What’s wrong?”
Shaking, Celine quickly hid her hands behind her back like a culprit caught in the act. The tip of her nose was red. “N-nothing.”
“Are you crying?”
“It’s nothing,” Celine repeated, yet the colour seemed to have drained from her face.
